On Fish and Fire
by Rovinder
Summary: Scott, Stiles, and a bottle of jack spend some time by the fire. Feels ensue.


The fire is cheerfully ablaze, spitting out hot sparks and dancing light.

"Dude, she's just one girl. There are so many other girls in the sea."

"Fish. There are so many other _fish_ in the sea."

"Why are you talkin' about fish, man? I'm talking about girls."

Stiles rambles on about Lydia while Scott sits beside him, one arm draped over his knee, staring vacantly into the dancing orange flames. The bottle of jack sits between them, touched only by the boy sprawled contentedly on his back, and Stiles notices a moment later.

"You need to have a drink, man. Come on; you can't bring your best friend into the woods to get d… to get drunk and not have some yourself." Stiles hiccups and smirks a little at his own verbal stumble. He nudges the bottle in Scott's direction.

"I've already had some," Scott lies, "I'm just not feeling it."

Stiles is on his side now. He's propping himself up on his elbow so he can stare curiously up at his best friend. "Can you even get drunk? I mean, being a wolf and all…."

"I don't know… I just…"

"It's not about the breakup, is it?"

A slight red flush paints Scott's cheeks. He looks hastily at Stiles and away again in a heartbeat. One hand shoots out, snags the bottle and raises it to trembling lips. One deep swig later and Scott is hunched over, spluttering from the burn of the alcohol. Stiles sits up, puts a hesitant hand on Scott's back.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm… fine, just burns a little is all." He cracks a smile that returns Stiles to his previous position, also wearing a tiny grin.

"Am I drunk?"

The boys lock eyes and manage to maintain calm exteriors for all of two seconds before they both snort in laughter. "You're trashed."

Stiles hands Scott the bottle again. "You should be too."

The fire is burning down with the sun as the two continue to share the bottle. Somehow, Stiles ends up getting still drunker, whereas Scott's level of sobriety plunges only a little below "buzzed". Scott takes the final swigs, now able to stomach it without coughing, and laughs light-heartedly. There's a flash of reflected orange light in the bottle's exterior as it takes a short flight and is abruptly brought to a halt by an unwieldy pine. The pieces that tinkle gently to the forest floor glitter there among the dried-out, orangish needles that carpet the ground.

There is silence for a time. It's broken by a ragged intake of breath that draws Stiles's attention immediately. "Scott?"

No answer.

Concern sobers him up in a heartbeat.

"McCall, are you crying?" He pushes himself up into a sitting position and leans towards the boy, his brow furrowed. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing; don't…." Scott deflects the hand that was reaching out as if to comfort him then buries his face in his own palms so Stiles won't see that the tears forming in the corners of his eyes are starting to fall. In a matter of seconds, he's shaking like a heart attack and unable to in any way conceal what he's feeling.

He's used to hiding things like this- things that constitute tears- but right now, his walls are brought down by liquor and he's left helpless to the surge of emotions that comes rushing past the broken floodgates. At first he doesn't know why he's crying, but it slowly sinks in. Alison, his broken family, all of this werewolf bullshit, innumerable things he'd pushed down so far that he'd all but forgotten them….

He doesn't truly let go until he feels gentle arms around him. Stiles's breath reeks of whiskey- he can smell it from where it hisses against his ear- and his friend's body is soft against his own. Warm. Oddly comforting. He freezes for a moment, unsure of how to react, but the whiskey-scented waves of dizziness that are dragging his brain down into somewhere dark push him to snake his arms around Stiles's torso and bury his face in the crook of his neck.

That's when crying is suddenly not strong enough a word to describe his drunken catharsis.

And Stiles holds him throughout.

The fire is reduced to a few smoldering embers.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Stiles doesn't know how to handle this situation. He's been Scott's best friend for a long time, but moments like this are the kind that their friendship could never have prepared him for. He loosens his grasp on Scott and holds him at arm's length instead, frowning. Scott is despondent, unresponsive. Stiles shakes him a little.

His dark eyes clear up, blink the tears away. "N-no. I'm fine, really; it's just the jack, I swear…."

"It's _not_ the jack. Is it Alison? Be straight with me, man."

Scott laughs despite himself. The things going through his head right now are anything _but_ straight. Stuff like that had always been passive for him- admiration of his teammates' bodies in the locker room and maybe their asses on the field- and now that he suddenly feels the urge to do something, he's nervous.

Isn't booze supposed to make you brave?

Maybe it's the booze making the urge a thing, though. It's not like he's actually _gay_ or anything, right? Besides, Stiles definitely isn't. They joke about it all the time, but that's the extent of it. Joking. Harmless. Disappointing.

What the hell is he even thinking about?

"It's not Alison, Stiles."

"Then what is it? Please tell me; I… I feel so damn _useless_ not knowing what I can do to help."

Scott bites his lip, feeling his cheeks and ears grow hot. Stiles doesn't notice. "Stiles," he says and, embarrassingly, his voice cracks. That puts a look of simultaneous amusement and concern on his friend's face.

He nods encouragingly, "Yeah?"

"It's not Alison… it's not the jack… it's…." He can't do this. Jesus Christ, he can't just say this and ruin the only friendship he can trust. But those hazel eyes are warm and inviting. Scott puts a hand on Stiles's cheek, which causes a look of confusion to cross his face.

It's now or never.

It's not the jack.

"It's you, Stiles."

Scott McCall has never kissed a boy. Surely it's no different from kissing girls. But it is different. It's better.

The fire is dead.


End file.
